Tainted
by Leask
Summary: Anton P'Sioux, is a very angry young mage. When his best friend Jowan is revealed as a blood mage, the youth finds himself conscripted into the Grey Wardens. What he thinks is a dead end will eventually lead to him finding his past, and his future...
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimers: **__Dragon Age: Origins and all related characters are obviously copy-write to Bioware. I'm just playing with them. __  
_**_Spoilers_**_: Through end game, eventually. For Stolen Throne and Probably for The Calling too, once I've finished.  
_**_Author's Note: _**_I love how the game plays with so many shades of Grey and Moral decisions. So i decided to explore what might end up happening in the Dragon Age: Origins Universe if the person who ended up taking the reins of the Ferelden Wardens was someone with questionable intentions. I do take liberties... sorry, poetic license with many of the things within the Dragon Age universe. Please enjoy, and all R&R's are greatly appreciated!_

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"He is a very angry young man." First Enchanter Irving sighed, and leant back against the edge of his desk. One hand lifted to pinch the bridge of his nose before running down over his beard. His eyes lifted and fixed onto the man standing before him.

Duncan looked tired. He looked haggered. But that man still stood, emanating power and authority, he shifted his weight, one hand casually resting on the back of Irving's chair. "But a very powerful one," He replied softly. "We could truly do with a recruit like him in our ranks."

Irving let out a long breath. Anton. Duncan, the Grey Warden, wanted to conscript Anton P'Sioux. The boy had...issues. Despite having successfully gone through his Harrowing, which came as a surprise to no-one, Anton was still getting into trouble with the templars. And the mages. And everyone he came across, really. When that chantry girl had immediately disowned Jowan, Anton had struck her across the face with his staff. He'd also smacked down two of Greagoir's templars with a fireball too, allowing Jowan to escape. The Maleficar. Anton had been involved with the Maleficar. Anton had always had a knack for the forbidden knowledge. But a Maleficar... Even Irving had thought Anton had to have a boundary somewhere. But he didn't. At every turn Anton defied them, argued with them, protested and challenged.

Irving wasn't normally one to raise his hand to apprentices, but even he had lost his temper with the boy. Anton just pushed and pushed and pushed until you broke.

"You don't seem to understand Duncan," Irving said. "He is incredibly intelligent. Arrogant with it, too. And anger...such...anger."

"Why is he angry?" Duncan asked.

"Oh, any number of reasons." Irving waved a hand. "Truthfully, I have never figured out why. His mentor was not a kind, or particularly patient mage, but that was many years ago now. Ever since the day he came to the circle he seemed to be very...angry about something. The problem is he keeps it contained."

"Perhaps he will find a release for it against the darkspawn then?" Duncan suggested, moving to pour himself a glass of water.

Irving was about to open his mouth when Greagoir entered. The Knight-Commander looked drained, and shot Irving a glance. Already Anton was dancing on very thin ice the First Enchanter knew – it was taking all of Greagoir's effort to keep him suppressed.

"That wretched boy is now locked up until we can find the resources to take him to Aeonar." The templar let his eyes wander over to Duncan, frowning at the warden. "What do you want?"

"I have a proposal concerning the young mage locked in your dungeon..."

_It was raining the day Greagoir had found Anton. It was a heavy rain, the sort that soaked one to the very core, trickling down the back of your armour and soaking your gambeson. The air was thick and heavy, the sky black. The sun was not going to win that day, that much was certain. _

_The Knight-Commander had no idea what had possessed him to head out the doors to stand outside. Perhaps he had just wanted to check on the nature of the lake, or perhaps he was expecting a shipment of supplies in. To this day he couldn't remember. _

_The boy was stood – he couldn't have been more than four, or five years old. His black hair was drenched and clung to his neck. His dark clothes were soaked through, and he stood without any boots on his feet. He held a staff in one hand, a staff made from dragon bone. It was simple and basic in design, but towered several feet above the youth. One small hand clasped it tightly, and he was focused on something distant in the sky. _

"_Child?" Greagoir had spoken softly. Perhaps one of the young mage's had gotten out and was now lost. "You should be indoors. It is almost breakfast time."_

_The boy had turned then, looking over his shoulder at the templar. Dark eyes narrowed at him and Greagoir had almost felt crushed by the power that was suddenly ebbing from the youth. It was so strong the templar had to take a step back, drawing in a deep breath. He turned his head, and shouted on the templars posted at the main door to fetch Irving. Those dark eyes... they kept looking at him. _

"Absolutely not!" Greagoir bellowed. "That boy is far too dangerous to be running around with the Grey Wardens. His power is wild, uncontrolled and directly linked to his temper." He shook his head. "There is no way I will ever let that boy go where a templar isn't there to control him."

Duncan sighed. "Do not fear, Knight-Commander. We have a warden in our midst who was trained as a templar. He never took his vows, but he is well practised in the arts of dispelling and controlling magic. I assure you he will be Anton's constant shadow." There was a pause, and Greagoir glared at Duncan. The warden used his trump card. "I can invoke the right of conscription if you so desire."

~xXx~

And so Anton became a Grey Warden recruit.

Duncan watched the boy across the fireplace as they made camp. The boy made him feel awkward – he was used to conversation, it wasn't always easy but most normal people had questions. Or at least attempted to make small talk. The dark haired mage just sat there, feeding the fire with sticks. He had taken the news that he had been recruited without comment. He marched along without complaint. When it came to mealtimes he ate sparingly, often quickly retiring to read the book he had brought along with himself, and write notes into a small, leather bond notebook he carried on himself constantly. He never let his staff from his sight either – and Irving had warned him that the boy would get very stressed and even violent whenever someone tried to take it away.

The Grey Warden let his eyes walk over the boys form – he was slender, like most mages, not built for physical strength but with a presence that suggested he wielded great power. He had never accepted his senior mage robes, instead opting for the dark colours of the apprentice ones. His dark hair was tied back loosely in a pony tail, the hair unkempt and dishevelled, stray strands falling about his face. It was an angular face, not unattractive but it looked a little..odd. His nose was too big, his lips too thin. His features, individually, all looked a little odd, but together they made a faintly handsome face. If it wasn't for that scowl. Duncan didn't know why the boy's features seemed to be in a permanent frown. But he seemed to growl at the whole world for the best part of his life, apart from when he was asleep.

"When we arrive at Ostagar, we will meet the King. He is an amiable man, but do not treat him casually. You must give him respect, and in return he will respect you." Duncan knew this information was sinking into the mage's mind, but the youth made no effort to reply, or respond. Duncan opted instead for stirring the pot of soup he was heating, and let out a long sigh falling into familiar silence.

"After this battle at Ostagar." The youth spoke. His voice was rich, rolling across the senses, drawing the listener in. Duncan was surprised, but found his mind absorbing every word. "Will I have to return to the Circle?"

For a moment the old warden was stunned into silence. Genuinely surprised that the lad had said anything at all, he groped for the answer. "No, you will be a Grey Warden, and loyal to us. The circle will have no power over you, unless you give them cause to hunt you down."

At the word loyal, those dark eyes had fixed onto Duncan. They were deep, rich eyes. Not quite a dark shade of brown, but not black either. There was no give in those eyes, no kindness, no compassion. His eyes narrowed as he took in the new information from the warden. The youth drew in a deep sigh.

"And what will be expected of me?"

"That you will do whatever is required of you to defeat the blight."

"And how do you know this is a real blight?"

Duncan used this opportunity of conversation to explain the complexities behind the Blight to the youth. He mentioned the arch demon, the taint, and how the darkspawn just tunnelled and tunnelled. Anton drank it up, listening to every single word carefully, and as they retired to their tents, Duncan saw the boy stay by the dying embers of the fire, no doubt writing up everything he had told him. The old warden smiled to himself – finally, he had found the lad's interest. Information.

~xXx~

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together." Alistair sighed. His brown eyes shifted, focusing on Anton. He fixed them on Anton. For the first time in his life the mage felt compelled to fill a silence.

"Sorry, what?"

The Grey Warden let his eyes roam away from the mage and away, letting out another sigh. "Oh nothing. Just trying to find a bright side to all this. Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?"

It was the look, Alistair reflected later. It made him feel about three feet tall, or that he had just stripped off all his armour, farted, and declared himself the Queen of Tevinter. The Warden struggled for something to say, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water until the mage spoke for him.

"Are you Alistair? Duncan sent me to find you."

"Oh! You must be the new recruit! From the circle of Magi! I'm sorry, I should've recognised you. I'm Alistair, the new Grey Warden." He stuck out a hand in offering to Anton. Dark eyes looked down at it, and visibly his whole body tensed. He took a half step back, swallowing. "I...don't shake hands." He said finally, dark eyes lifting back to fix on Alistair's. Alistair's eyes narrowed to a thin frown. "Riiiight, and people normally call me strange. Nevermind!" He went on cheerfully, "Shall we go find the other recruits? They should be here somewhere..."

Anton said nothing, just stood there looking expectantly at Alistair. It was clear to the junior warden that this lad was about as comfortable at leading as he was. He swallowed, and offered a grin. "Well, after you." He gestured with one hand to hopefully prompt him into moving. Anton blinked at him and then nodded.

He turned back the way he came, and Alistair noted that the lad was as standoffish with Daveth and Jory as he was with him. The only one he seemed to pay any attention to when they spoke was Duncan, and even then it was with an eerie focus. One that was intense, like he was attempting to suck all the information out of him at once.

Once they had been sent into the Korcari wilds, Anton seemed to settle into the role of leader very easily. He walked a little way in front, at a forward pace, dark eyes seeming to scan the area intently. Obviously he was not aware that Alistair could sense the darkspawn coming, and neither were Daveth and Jory.

"How do we know we're not walking into the hoard?" Ser Jory said, worriedly.

"Don't worry." Alistair said. "I'm here to make sure that doesn't happen – Warden's can sense the darkspawn, they can't attack without warning."

"Oh, great." Ser Jory said flatly with a sigh, "So we'll know about them before the slit our throats, how lovely!"

"Don't worry, Jory!" Daveth went on, "I'm sure Alistair can give us plenty more warning than that."

"And I'm sure they'll have plenty warning from us if you keep blabbering on at the top of your voice." Anton snapped, turning around to fix Daveth with a glare. "So how about a little silence so we stop alerting every one of the foul creatures in this forest to our presence hmm?"

Silence descended on the group. Very little happened for several hours – they ran across a wolf pack Alistair and Jory swinging in and slicing the beasts up, Anton and Daveth hanging back to hit them with missiles from a vantage point.

Mage's made Alistair uncomfortable, and powerful ones made him even more uncomfortable. There was no doubt that Anton was powerful – he'd felt the strength of his connection with the veil when he was casting. But, oddly enough, when Anton wasn't casting there was no real background to his magic. It was almost as if the mage was sealing it up in a tight little ball, hiding it away to avoid detection. Alistair had already tried to rein it in, out of curiosity after Duncan had warned him that he may need to should the lad lose his temper. He had failed miserably, but then he also hadn't really been trying.

Daveth and Jory had gone on to scout ahead, and they were taking a lunch break. Anton ate nothing, but stared at Alistair while he ate his bread and cheese. It was an uncomfortable stare, Alistair could feel it at the back of his neck, and he couldn't take it any longer. He turned around, and threw one hand up in the air.

"What? What is it? Have I got some sort of boil growing out the back of my neck? Why are you staring at me?" Alistair ranted, glaring at Anton as he stood underneath a tree, leaning on his staff.

"You are a templar." The youth said softly, dark eyes roaming over Alistair's form. "I can feel it."

"Well, just as well I'm, on your side then, yes? Anyway, I didn't seem to effect you."

"No." Anton said moving forward and walking over to sit beside the Warden. His staff was placed at his feet, and the youth sighed, arms folding over his knees, eyes now focused on the country side. "You were never at the tower. I would've remembered you if you had been at the tower."

"I never took my vows." Alistair said softly. "I was about to, but then Duncan recruited me into the Grey Wardens. I haven't looked back since – I never wanted to be a templar."

Anton nodded, lifting one hand to smooth some stray strands of hair out his face. "I am glad of that, you would've made a terrible templar."

"Well... I'm not naturally disposed to killing people just because the Chantry says they're bad."

Anton fell into silence. Alistair found it was a comfortable silence, one he didn't need to fill. A smile touched his lips and he finished his lunch, just in time for Jory and Daveth to come running back to them. "I think we've found the ruins where the scrolls are, there is what looks like a tower or something over to the east." Daveth looked excited, and a little flushed. Jory looked downright terrified. "And there are darkspawn. We got close enough that they didn't see us, but we saw three or four heading in that direction."

"Good work." Alistair said, finishing off his cheese, and throwing the bread aside for the local fauna. He dusted off his hands and stood up, pulling his greaves back on and tightening them. "Lets get to it then, shall we?"

They moved off in silence, and through the trees. Alistair felt the tingle of magic as Anton cast a cloak spell over the four of them, muffling their steps and their breathing. He was grateful for it – he could feel the darkspawn up ahead. There were at least a dozen of them, a number he wasn't particularly keen on. And as much as he wanted to stop them and tell them the best strategy for approaching such a group, this was all part of the test. He stopped them and told them the numbers, that was all. It was Anton in the end, as they lurked in the forest just behind the wooden bridge, who came up with a plan of attack.

Alistair and Jory were to lurk in the woods, while Daveth, the quickest and lightest on his feet lured them out. He loosed one arrow, then another, taking one in the throat and injuring another in the leg. The plan worked, and a group of four rushed off in the direction of the forest, where Jory and Alistair slew them quietly. As reinforcements walked further across the bridge, Anton unleashed a lightning spell which leapt from one spawn to the other, killing three more and injuring another two beyond the ability to fight. The remainder of the darkspawn retained their formation on the other side of the Bridge.

Alistair stayed Anton's advance with one hand. "Do you feel that?" He whispered, as Daveth cautiously approached the bridge and began to disarm some traps.

The mage turned his dark eyes onto Alistair and raised his eyebrow in a mute enquiry. Alistair pointed to the darkspawn in front of them, across the bridge. "In the centre, there, a darkspawn mage. We call them emissary's."

Anton drew in a deep breath, letting his eyes slip shut. Alistair could feel the air around Anton itself change, taking on the coppery taste and smell of someone about to cast magic. When the mage opened his eyes, Alistair could've sworn they looked different. More a rich ruby than the dark shade it was previously. "I feel it." Anton said gently. "It is not like ordinary magic."

"No, it is magic born of the darkspawn taint."

The four of them began to advance, and the emissary's laugh resounded around the clearing. Fire flared and the hurlocks around him rushed them. Jory leapt in, his fear overcame now that he knew the beasts could be slain. Daveth found himself a high perch and sent arrow after arrow at them, felling first one, then two. Alistair himself bellowed a war cry, tempted to suppress the emissary's magic but resisting. Anton had to be able to use his own power against the darkspawn if he was ever to lean anything. Into the fray he went, feeling the Emissary summon some fire with a laugh. He could feel Anton draw his own power from a distance, and glanced over his should to see the boy midcast, his body still while he worked the energy around him.

A blue hue of light began at the top of Anton's staff, the boy summoning the energy and focusing it into a singular point. It formed an orb which rapidly expanded to surround him, before the boy manipulated it and formed a shield – and just in time too, as the Emissary's fireball glanced off it harmlessly. From within the protective shield, which seemed to dissipate with every blow of fire that landed upon it, Anton was working a spell.

His hands were held slightly apart, and forming within it was a spear of ice. It formed swiftly, and when it was done Anton dropped the shield, one of the Emissary's fireballs landing at his feet, setting the ground ablaze. It didn't seem to affect Anton's ice spear, and this he hurled with all his might towards the darkspawn. By this point all of the Emissary's party were slain, and there was only his magic left.

The spear pierced the creature's chest in an explosion of dark blood. It sprayed into the air and the beast fell down, dead. Alistair felt the magic drain away as Anton stopped casting, and wiped his sword clean of blood. Already Anton was kneeling by the corpse of a darkspawn, filling a vial of blood. Jory and Daveth followed suit, and Anton headed towards the body of the Emissary's.

For a moment he considered something, before taking an empty bottle from his pack and slitting the emissary's wrist to fill it with blood.

"What are you doing?" Alistair asked, sheathing his blade.

"The Emissary has a type of power I have never seen before. I wish to study it."

"But surely...you're verging on blood magic, yes?"

"Just because one is studying the energies contained within blood doesn't mean one is working blood magic." Anton replied flatly. Alistair frowned, he was pretty sure that was what blood magic entailed. But Anton seemed to hold no further interest in discussing the subject, and pocketed the vials of blood. He stood slowly, and Daveth headed over and pointed to the ruins in front of them. "Is that the box with the treaties there?" He asked.

"I suspect so." Alistair replied, and the four of them headed over to the chest. It was empty.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder?" A female voice interrupted them. Her footsteps clattered on the stone underneath her as they approached. Anton turned around, his dark eyes seeking out the form of the woman walking towards them. "A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"

Anton interrupted her. "We're looking for the treaties that were in the chest there. Do you know what happened to them?"


	2. Chapter 2

Daveth and Jory had died in the joining. Duncan had been hoping that the two of them would make it, after all, you never wanted any recruit to die in the joining, but losses were expected. Two out of three, however. They were unlucky numbers. And Anton, while he had survived... was taking a very long time to come around after drinking the blood. Alistair was crouched beside him worriedly, fingers once again feeling for a pulse. It was there, slow and steady.

"He will awaken eventually." Duncan said softly, feeding the fire at their tents. "Do not fret."

"Yes..." Alistair agreed, "But how often does this happen? A recruit taking a long time to come around. I don't remember being out for very long after my joining."

"Patience, Alistair. Patience. You should probably appreciate the time that he is unconscious. This one is going to be difficult."

"Difficult?"

"Yes. Particularly for you, Alistair. You are the only one here with templar training. You may have to rein in his magic."

Alistair's eyes moved from Anton to fix on Duncan. "What do you mean?"

"There is a darkness in this one." Duncan replied, letting out a sigh. "He has great strength, but it is almost as if he is standing on the edge of a great canyon, drawing his power from it. At any point he could willingly, or unwillingly, let himself fall into the abyss. I have the feeling if he ever decided to go down that route, he would be quite the adversary."

"He didn't become a recruit by choice, did he?" Alistair said softly, knowing the answer but not wanting to hear it.

Duncan shook his head. "No. He helped a Maleficar at the circle. But according to the first Enchanter he had always been a difficult apprentice. Apparently his...Harrowing was a little strange too."

"Strange? How?" Alistair was curious. This boy, Anton, was getting stranger and stranger.

_He was in the fade. The fade wasn't particularly somewhere he had ever enjoyed. Jowan had often talked about how fond he was of the fade, how he had enjoyed manipulating the environment around him in a way he never could in reality. For Anton the fade was dull and boring. For some reason his powers always felt muted and dull in the fade. He could use them, certainly, but he had always struggled here in a way he had never struggled when he was awake. Perhaps that was why he very rarely slept, avoiding it whenever he could. Generally he used the fade to Mediate, ignoring the many demons that flocked to him, ignoring them. _

_But this time was different. It wasn't a demon that was annoying him this time, it was Her. She frequently came, in many guises. Sometimes She was beautiful, with golden long hair, and sky blue eyes. Other times She came as a cat, or a dog. Sometimes She came as a middle aged woman, pretending to be the mother that he couldn't remember. Once She nearly fooled him, and had him believing that he had entered into the dreams of his mother... But he soon saw through that. There were not enough memories, not enough that didn't come from his mind. She did keep trying though. She had always been trying. _

"_You seem to have survived the taint." Her voice was rich, like black silk. Anton had always found it soothing. _

"_Mmm," He replied, refusing to open his eyes and acknowledge Her. "If this is what you call surviving. I'll believe it when I wake up in reality again." _

"_Yes, you must wake up and leave me, as always." Was Her purred reply. He felt a hand on his hair, smoothing over it gently. He brought his staff around, hitting Her hand away. His staff didn't connect with anything of substance, but he felt Her move away regardless._

_She tutted. "Must you always be so cold? I have taught you a great deal. There is much you would not have achieved without me." _

"_I achieved it on my own." Was his reply. "And I will achieve a great deal more. It is a bit late to be trying to tempt me now, wouldn't you say?" _

_She laughed. It was a beautiful laugh. It pulled across his senses, yanking on something deep within his chest. "Oh my darling." She whispered, and Anton could see the smile on Her lips, even with his eyes closed. "How wise and foolish you really are." He felt Her lips on his own. _

_Anton opened his eyes, and saw nothing but darkspawn. _

Anton surged upright with a startled breath, his heart in his throat. "Easy easy!" It was Alistair's voice. He felt the firm fingers of the warden grip his shoulder, and automatically Anton lifted one of his own hands to knock the hand away. He shifted, making to stand only to find his legs weak under him. He stumbled.

"I said take it easy Anton," Alistair went on, fetching another canteen of water and offering it to him. "You've been out for a worrying amount of time. Duncan is just off fetching a healer."

"I'm fine." Anton croaked, taking the canteen of water and swallowing. His dark eyes shifted, moving across the fire to focus on Alistair, who had concern written across his honest features. "Really, I'm fine." He reiterated, hoping Alistair would stop staring at him like that. It seemed to work, and the blond looked away and ran his hand through his hair.

"You're a Grey Warden now." He said softly, "Welcome to the shadows."

Anton let out a long sigh, and ran his hands over his face. "So what now?"

"You're awake!" It was Duncan. Both Alistair and Anton turned to look at the senior warden, approaching with a mage in tow. It was an older lady, and Anton recognised her right away. Inwardly he groaned.

"Wynne." He muttered.

"Anton!" She knelt beside him, and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead to check for fever. Irritated, he brushed her off and scrambled unsteadily to his feet. He swayed, and Alistair momentarily reached out support him, but then thought better of it. The mage righted himself and that scowl was back on his face, and it was pointed towards Wynne.

"Do not fuss like an old mother hen." He hissed, again running his hand over his face and through his black hair. "Leave me, I am sound."

Duncan frowned. "We were only being precautionary, Anton. It is good to see you finally awake. Most Wardens wake quickly after the Joining, you have taken the best part of an hour."

Wynne also frowned, and folded her arms across her chest. "You have always been a contemptuous brat, Anton." She scolded him. "I have always found you insufferably rude, you could at least show a little gratitude to Duncan for worrying about your well being, surely?"

"Be silent woman!" Anton snapped. "For years you have chided and scolded me like a child. I am no longer an individual of your concern, so there is no need to fret over my manners and whether or not my behaviour will cause you to lose precious face and ruin your oh-so-fantastic track record with the young and troubled mage's put under you care. Well, I'm sorry there Wynne. Like that poor elvish boy, you can mark me down as one of your failures."

The old mage's face drained of colour. Her eyes widened in shock and her mouth gaped a little. Anton waved a hand at her. "Now be gone from my sight, woman. I'll have nothing more to do with you."

Astounded, and with nothing else to say Wynne turned heel and marched from the warden's tents. Duncan turned on Anton, his voice raised in anger. "Anton, that was entirely unnecessary!" His face furrowed into a frown, and Alistair took a step back, loathing being caught in the middle.

Anton's dark eyes rounded on Duncan, his face furrowed into a deep frown. "You said to me that my loyalties were no longer bound to the circle, that once I became a Grey Warden I would have allegiance to the Grey Wardens and only the Grey Wardens. I do not see how pandering to mages who have only ever hindered my progress will benefit us in suppressing this Blight."

"We owe them respect, in that hope that they will respect us in turn and aid us! Duncan snapped at Anton, his own face furrowing into a frown.

"No one respects the Grey Wardens anymore!" Anton exclaimed.

Duncan's fist had connected with Anton's jawline before he had even registered the fury. The youth's head snapped to the side, the boy stumbling on his feet with the blow. For a second he stood head and shoulders hunched, before dark eyes moved to focus on Duncan. Duncan had split Anton's lip, and droplets of dark blood pooled on the pale flesh. Gingerly Anton lifted one hand to his face, wiping the blood away and looking at it dispassionately. The youth straightened, and with one final look at Duncan, turned and walked away in utter silence.

"That was the worst thing I could've done." Duncan said regretfully, letting out a long sigh. Alistair too let out the breath he had been holding in, rubbing the back of his neck and crinkling his nose. "I would say so." He muttered under his breath, watching Anton stalk off among the tents.

Duncan ran his hands over his face, grumbling under his breath. When he had finally composed himself, his eyes looked to Alistair. "What happened with the witch, Alistair?" He asked gently, his brown eyes fixing onto the junior wardens.

Alistair's face contorted into a displeased scowl. "It was weird." He began.

"_Four Grey Wardens?" The old witch looked surprised, her grey eyebrows narrowing into a frown. Morrigan tilted her head, "Yes mother, there are four."_

_The old witch got up off her rocking chair in front of the __dilapidated_ _ looking hut, surprisingly sprightly for her many years. She walked over, her eyes narrowing as she looked every one of them over. "Now, isn't this a happy surprise?" She said, her voice belaying her evident amusement. "Seems that there are some things that can be hidden, even now." Alistair felt that when she looked at him she was examining a horse, something she had expected to see and was planning on purchasing. Daveth took a step back from her intense examination. "She's a witch, she is. We shouldn't be talking to her." _

"_Quiet Daveth." Jory whispered nervously, "If she's really a witch we don't want to be making her mad." _

_The old woman ignored them. "You three are as expected." She waved at them with one hand dismissively, before bringing one finger around to point it at Anton. "You...are not." She approached him carefully, walking on light footsteps and circled him, her eyes roving up and down his body. Alistair could feel Anton bristling just a little, the familiar tinge of copper forming in the air as he began to draw on the veil for his magic. Dark eyes were narrowed in a silent glare as she paused to openly stare at him, and for a second, for the briefest of seconds Alistair could've sworn genuine shock, or surprise, registered on her face. The witch quickly smothered it though. _

"_We're honestly suppose to believe that you were expecting us?" Alistair felt that perhaps he should take charge, before Anton did something Alistair would soon regret. _

_Her yellow eyes snapped to him, and she offered him a twisted smile. "You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut ones eyes tight, or open ones arms wide, either way, one is a fool." _

"_Your daughter mentioned that you recovered some of our documents." Anton interjected, straight to the point as always. "We would be grateful if you could return them." Anton was being polite, he was never usually polite, but then Alistair hadn't known him that long, so maybe the lad had some redeemable qualities after all. _

_The witch raised an eyebrow. "My my, straight to the point then." She laughed, turning around and disappearing into the hut. She emerged, and walked straight towards Anton, offering them to him in one hand. "Much about you isn't clear yet, boy." She said, "So many things undecided. Tell me, before I give you your treaties, will you enter into a deal with me?" _

_Anton shifted, his grip tightening about his staff. Uncertain-y wandered across his features. No doubt he could feel the witch's power in the same way Alistair could. Anton probably had a better idea of it, truth be told. The witch laughed again, folding her arms and concealing the treaties within her grip. "I only want you to answer one question, lad." A smile danced upon her lips. "One harmless little question, then you can have your treaties." _

_Anton considered her offer, but then seemed to come to the conclusion that they had no choice. "Very well, but I cannot guarantee an answer." _

_Another chuckle from the old witch. "Marvellous, such foresight from one so young. Tell me, boy, where did you get such a marvellous dragon bone staff? Was it for a fair price?" _

_Anton was silent, his dark eyes searching the witch's face. His grip tightened even more on his staff, his knuckles turning white. "It was gifted to me." He said finally, carefully. "And the price was too high." _

_Anton held the witches gaze for a good minute or two. Something passed between them, something Alistair couldn't comprehend, or understand. It must've been a mage's thing. _

"Then she warned us that the threat was greater than we realised. All in all she was very cryptic. Seemed to like Anton though, don't know why. He's not exactly charming." Alistair shrugged, letting out a sigh. Duncan nodded quietly, thinking something through carefully. It was a long time before he actually spoke. "We've got a meeting with the Teyrn and the King, go find Anton and bring him along. The boy is clever, and could probably contribute to the battle plan. Perhaps his arrogant eye can spot something we missed." And with that Duncan turned away and headed over towards the King's tent.

Alistair let out a long sigh and ran his hands over his face. "Maker's breath." he grumbled to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew he was the younger Warden. He knew he was supposed to run around doing everything Duncan said, but shouldn't the job of messenger boy be getting pawned off on Anton now, since he was the newest recruit?

"Damn it." He muttered, and stalked off in search of Anton. He searched for a good fifteen minutes, and everyone he asked about the mage either had no idea who he was talking about, or took that glazed, bemused expression upon their face that suggested that they had dealt with him. In the end, logic won out over his haphazard searching and he headed over towards the mage tents. At the very least he could apologise to that concerned old lady for Anton's behaviour.

He spotted Anton on the outskirts of the mage's territory. He was talking to a templar, and this was enough in of itself to make Alistair hesitate. They were away from the tents, beside a wall that had half collapsed. The templar glanced around furtively, and Alistair felt the need to duck behind a tree. For second he hid, wondering why he was being so secretive, before he peeked out from behind the tree.

The templar had taken off his helmet. The templar wasn't a he at all, but rather a woman. Her blond hair was tied tightly into two buns at the base of her head, and her skin was a rich olive. Her features weren't exactly beautiful, but she had a certain line to her jaw and nose that made her appealing to look at. Handsome would probably be the word to describe it. She smiled at Anton, and said something soft. Alistair couldn't hear from this distance.

When Anton lifted one hand to stroke her cheek, Alistair near enough fell over. Anton had never hidden the fact that he loathed physical contact from anyone, let alone with a templar. Her own gloved hand lifted to touch his, and for a moment the two looked regretful. Anton said something urgent, and his face contorted into a frown. She shook her head, taking a sad step away from him.

Anton stood looking lost, his hand falling from her cheek. She looked away from him, shaking her head and pinching the bridge of her nose. Alistair could've sworn he heard a choked sob. The two stood, silently, not looking at each other until Anton seemed to reach a decision. From about his neck he lifted an amulet. Alistair had seen him wearing it, and assumed it had been some sort of magical amulet that assisted with his magic. It looked like a big canine, from some sort of predatory animal. Perhaps a bear or a wolf. Anton handed it to the templar, pressing it into her hands. She shook her head again, and tried to give it back to him. Almost forcefully his hands closed over hers, pushing her hands into her chest.

Alistair couldn't watch anymore, and left. This was something forbidden no doubt. Unless it was something sweet and innocent and she had been his sister and joined the templars when he was dragged off to the tower. Alistair frowned. No, that wasn't it. Duncan had said that Anton was an orphan that had just turned up at the tower. Shaking his head he found himself winding up back at their own section of tents. He busied himself with polishing and honing his sword, until he heard footsteps approaching. Glancing over his shoulder he spotted Anton, his face looking almost melancholic. He couldn't let the lad know what he had seen – some things were best left unsaid.

"There you are." He said instead. "Hows the face?"

Anton shrugged non-committally, sitting down beside him on the log and letting out a sigh. He ran his hand through his hair, and Alistair noted that he now wore a pair of dark leather gloves. Templar gloves. Alistair said nothing, his eyes moving back to his sword and the whetstone he ran along it's edge.

"Duncan wants us to head over to join in a meeting with the King and Teyrn Loghain."

Anton snorted non-committally, and Alistair watched him shift his position on the log. Anton kept glancing at his hands. "It's not so bad." the Warden offered. "It means our opinion is valued. Not by Loghain, but by the King anyhoo."

"The King is an idealistic young fool." Anton muttered.

"He's older than you, you know."

"You don't know how old I am."

"Nor do you, from what I understand."

Anton had nothing to say to that. Instead his dark eyes moved onto Alistair, looking him over. For once Anton wasn't looking at him with that scowl, instead he was looking at him a little quizzically. The tip of his tongue moved over his lips, and the mage let out a sigh.

"Do you enjoy being a Grey Warden?" He asked, finally, looking away and back to the fire.

Alistair thought about the question. "Yes." He said, finally. "I was born a bastard, and my mother died when I was young. I was raised by the Arl of Redcliffe, but when he took a wife she took a dislike to me and had me shipped off to the Chantry to begin templar training. It wasn't what I wanted, until Duncan recruited me. For once someone asked me what I wanted, and I wanted out of the Chantry. But it's more than that. There's...comradeship in the Wardens. Because of what we are...what we have to do, there's an unbreakable bond there. I'm accepted for who and what I am here..." His eyes looked at Anton, "And you will be too. Your not a mage, anymore Anton. That's what you do. You're a Grey Warden now, just like Duncan and I."

Anton continued to stare reflectively into the fire. His eyes looked distant, and Alistair assumed there was something heavy preying on his mind. Perhaps even that templar girl. Or maybe the fight with Duncan. He had gone back to honing his sword, when Anton spoke again.

"That witch. The one in the wilds." He said softly, almost in a whisper. "She could see through time."

Alistair shrugged. "Or maybe she was just good at sounding like she did. I've never heard of a mage who could see into the future."

"I have." Anton whispered. "I read that the Tevinter Mages could see the past, and the future. They could scry across the land to see what people doing half the world away. The could even see into the hearts of men, and judge them. It is a real magic, Alistair. The circle just doesn't teach it. I wonder if I could do it?"

Alistair frowned. "I'm sure if there is a way, Anton, you'll figure it out. Come on, lets head over to this meeting before Duncan comes back out and drags us both over by our ears."

Anton let out a long sigh, before nodding and getting to his feet. "Sure, lets head out then."

* * *

Disclaimer - I don't know if there can be women templars. I'm saying there can, for the sake of a good story. And the fact that in Ferelden, when it comes to war and fighting, women seem to be just as able to do whatever as men. Thanks to everyone who is reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Loghain was sure he had seen the boy somewhere before. There was something familiar about him, something that nudged at the edge of his senses. It annoyed him, and his brow furrowed only further at the mystery of the lad. His skin prickled, feeling the background magic that surrounded Anton. Most mage's were pretty good at holding everything back in his presence, his dislike of magic wielders was very well known and Loghain had noticed the way mages tended to shrink away from him. Not this one, though. He stood there, at the war table, dark eyes fixed on the King almost defiantly. Loghain really didn't like mages. He didn't like Grey Wardens, either. Truth was, Loghain Mac Tir didn't like anyone much these days.

"You must be cautious, your Highness." He said to Cailan as he waxed lyrical about the joy of heading into battle with the Grey Wardens, and how he wanted to be right at the front. "Perhaps not everyone in the troops is as eager to clamber into the fray as you. The mages, for example, are often hesitant." Loghain's blue eyes focused on Anton. The boy seemed to ignore him. Loghain picked up a goblet filled with water.

"You can trust us to hold the line." The representative from the circle said, shooting a glance at Loghain, barely concealing his hatred.

"Trusting mages is like asking a cat for directions." Anton said, flatly. "You're lucky if you are told the right direction to head in. "

Loghain's eyes went wide. His goblet clattered loudly to the table.

"What did you say?" He whispered, eyes narrowing at Anton. The youth turned his head to face him, as if looking at the General for the first time. Those dark eyes bored into his soul, as if searching for something. The silence between them grew, Anton's dark eyes settling to fix on Loghain's icy blues. For the first time in years, Loghain began to feel a little nervous. Deep, forgotten memories rose in his mind, of a dark wood where bodies hung from trees, of an old witch and promises. Promises he was never privy too. Riddles, cryptic clues and messages that ultimately meant nothing.

"I said you are wise not to put your faith in the mages, Teyrn. They are fickle creatures at best." The lad's voice brought Loghain back to the present, back to reality. Dark eyes moved away from the Teyrn, back to the King and war table. Anton's gloved finger pointed to an outcrop that overlooked the battle field. "It would be sensible to place them here, above the battle field so that they might rain down fire and lighting on the darkspawn hoard. Only keep a few within the ranks to concentrate on healing."

Cailan nodded. "Excellent strategy, young man." Loghain's eyes remained fixed on Anton, the sinking feeling in his stomach making him feel like he was young again, and lost in the wilds. Part of him wondered, wondered that if out there, somewhere...

"And of course, I will remain with the men, on the front lines."

"Your Majesty, that is sheer foolishness." His mind was dragged back to the matter at hand, mostly by Cailan's idiocy. He was so like his father, and unfortunately without the experience,with more arrogance and the self assurance of never having really been in a proper battle. He sighed. "You should remain at the flank, with myself. Let the Grey Wardens lead."

"No, Loghain, I want to be at the front, with the men and the Wardens."

It would, of course, be Cailan's greatest mistake.

~xXx~

Alistair was exhausted. He had never faced so many darkspawn, wave after wave of the buggers. He's already taken a pike through the shoulder, and it was only a quick blast from Anton's staff that had prevented the little bugger from chewing his face off. Alistair had never really realised how useful magic could be – Anton's healing had been invaluable. Despite the help from the soldiers, the onslaught through the tower of Ishal was immense. It was baffling. Where were they all coming from? He leant heavily against a wall, as Anton searched the body of another Hurlock.

"Find anything?" The warden panted, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Anton stood, shaking his head. His own face was ashen and pale, dark circles under his eyes. Despite his power it was evident Anton was not used to casting spell after spell in such a way. Even the physical exertion of running and fighting was proving a challenge. "Nothing of use, anyway." He shrugged, before going to the small pouch on his belt. He produced a vial of lyrium and eyed it suspiciously. Seeming to come to a conclusion he tucked it back into his pouch with a sigh,

"Shouldn't you take that?" Alistair asked, following Anton's lead and producing his water canteen.

Again, Anton shook his head, pulling hands pulling his hair back into a messy ponytail. "No. I should save it for when it is needed most. We must press on if we are to reach the beacon in time."

Alistair nodded, popping the cork back into his canteen. "Lead on then." A grin touched his lips.

"I thought you were in charge, senior warden." Anton offered, a slight inflection in his voice suggesting he was just playing.

Alistair was about to open his mouth when the door in front of them flew open and a group of five more darkspawn burst through. They were mostly the short gurlocks with the bows and arrows, one with an axe which is what had smashed through the ancient oak door. They hissed in anger at the pair of them, and Anton immediately countered with a fireball which exploded among them. A hurlock screamed in agony, half ablaze and lunged at Alistair. He ducked, raising his shield for it to clatter upon it heavily, pushing him down onto one knee. He let out a bellow, his already weakened shoulder barely standing up to the onslaught. Gritting his teeth against the pain Alistair pushed himself back upright with a surge, throwing the Sherlock back. It stumbled, for Alistair to swing around with his longsword and open it's throat. Two other gurlocks had fallen to the ground, half cooked, the awful stench of burnt flesh filling Alistair's senses. Anton was already hurling individual bolts of lightening at the remainder of the group, and they growled and pressed towards him. Alistair was too far away to get to them, and yelled out a cry of warning as he saw one Gurlock take aim with fierce looking crossbow bolt at Anton. Dark eyes glanced in his direction, before moving to the Gurlock. Anton threw out one arm, and to Alistair's astonishment instead of blot of magic hitting the gurlock, it fell to the ground with a knife embedded deep in it's eye. Alistair ran to Anton's side, swiftly beheading another Gurlock as he went, leaving them once again in momentary peace.

"What sort of mage carries knives?" Alistair exclaimed, as they began to head cautiously down the corridor that had just been opened up to them.

"What sort of templar carries a runic worry token?" The mage replied, a faint grin pulling at the corner of his lips. Alistair blanched – he was unaware that Anton had the faintest idea about his odd superstitions. Unintentionally his hand flickered over his sword belt, and the small pocket within where he stored his 'lucky charm'. "How'd you know about that?" He muttered in reply, tongue darting over his lips.

"You flip it between your fingers whenever you're thinking."

"That can't be very often."

"That's why I noticed the rare event."

Alistair laughed; it was a small laugh, more of a snicker than an actual laugh but it felt good. The tension of the situation ebbed away and Alistair realised that despite Anton's stoic nature, he was actually his friend. It was a relief.

There was a bellow from down the corridor. Alistair's blood ran to his feet, and he saw Anton visibly hesitate in his movements. The mage swallowed.

"That doesn't sound good." The warden sighed, coming to a stop. Anton nodded, reaching into his pouch and producing two lyrium vials. "Close your eyes." He said, before drawing on his reserves. Alistair felt his energy restored, all weariness lifting from him like a worn shirt. He drew a deep breath, feeling the magic fill him from head to toe. He felt replenished, like he hadn't been fighting for hours and hours. He went to open his eyes only for Anton to softly chide him. "Not yet."

Alistair felt more magic curl about him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a great chill covered him from head to foot. He grimaced. "What are you doing?"

"You can open your eyes now." When Alistair opened his eyes Anton looked a little paler, and was pulling his sleeve down over his arm. Brown eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"

Anton downed another vial of lyrium, tossing the empty glass aside. "I cast a spell of protection over you." And to prove his point he picked up a small stone, and tossed it at Alistair. The templar ducked, but the stone bounced harmlessly off a shield that had been erected around him.

"It'll only take so many hits." Anton explained, "But it means you can run right into the fray. The more powerful the blow, the more energy dissipates, but it should help you get a few blows in against whatever it is that lies ahead."

Alistair nodded. "Right then, lets do this."

The proceeding cautiously. There roar came again, and as they rounded the corner they peered onto what was obviously the rooftop of the tower. Three soldiers and an Ash warrior valiantly were fighting a great horned creature. It skin was the colour of stone, and blood dripped from its maw. With one hand it sweat aside the Ash warrior, his hound leaping upon the creature's wrist and attempting to tear at flesh. The great creature bellowed again, and as if it were a fly it lifted it's other hand and crushed the mabari without a second thought.

"The beacon." Alistair breathed, "We must kill this thing and light the beacon."

"Who said anything about killing the Ogre?" Anton replied, already summoning a fireball into the palm of his hand.

"But...those soldiers!"

"Are already dead." And with that he hurled the ball of flame towards the beacon, it landed and the wood caught immediately. The fire naturally caught the beast's attention, and it growled, turning towards the flames. The two hammerlocks with it were slightly smarter, and looked to the source.

"Run." Anton had grabbed Alistair's wrist, and was pulling him away. "We'd best join the battle field. Warn them of the risk of attack from behind."

Alistair agreed, they had lit the beacon, now they should head to the fray. Who knows how many more darkspawn would come up from under the ground? The hurlocks hissed in anger, drawing the ogre's attention away from the fire. They pointed, and the great beast let out a roar and lumbered after them. They turned and ran, the floor behind them shaking with every last one of the beast's footfalls. Anton pulled ahead, not weighed down by armour. He cast as they ran, lightening bolts raining down on the small groups of darkspawn that attempted to cut off their path.

"Anton!" Alistair cried suddenly, feeling his feet lifting from the ground despite his shield he could feel the ogre's grip on him. Anton skidded to a halt, spinning around on his feet and glancing back. The ogre had picked up Alistair. For a moment it was comical, the beast flailed Alistair around like he was an infant's toy, the shield flaring a fantastic orange with every blow. Alistair was hit off the wall, the floor, the beast screaming in frustration. Despite this, there was little protection for Alistair. Being shook around like that couldn't have been good for him, and with a sputter the magic dissipated. He could feel the ogre's claws pierce through his splintmail, and into his flesh. A cry of utter agony spilled from his lips as claws began to tear flesh asunder.

"HEY!" Anton shouted at the creature, withdrawing a knife from his sleeve, pulling the other up. "Put that school boy down!"

The beast hesitated, it's attention momentarily distracted. Alistair's eyes widened as Anton first slashed open his own wrist with the blade, before throwing it expertly at the ogre. It screeched in fury as the dagger landed in the back of the hand holding Alistair, and it dropped him like a hot potato. Despite hitting the ground heavily Alistair managed to find the strength to scrabble backwards out the way of its huge feet as it rushed Anton. He watched aghast as Anton drew the blood from his own wound, never letting it touch the ground. The air was thick with magic, Anton's eyes narrowing as his hands moved to shape it. He watched the mage send it forth, following the flight path of the dagger. It plunged into the ogre's flesh through the already open wound, and Anton began to mutter to himself.

Anton stood with one hand out stretched and the creature struggled to a halt, as if facing some invisible barrier. Panicked it began to claw at it's own skin, it's talons tearing into it's own flesh as it attempted to rip something out from within. It bawled a roar of terror, throwing it's head back. Alistair grimaced as he saw the creature's flesh start to bubble, great huge blisters forming and pulsating along it. They burst in violent hot welts of blood, before the ogre itself let out a scream of utter agony and exploded in a great flurry of flesh and dark, sticky blood.

"You're a bloodmage!" Alistair exclaimed as Anton swiftly turned his attention from the ogre to him, running to his side already summoning a healing spell. The warden winced as he felt muscle and skin begin to knot together in side of him, Anton's hands awash with a green glow. Dark eyes didn't fix on him, the mage concentrating on his spell."A fucking blood mage!" Alistair riled at his friend, unbelieving. Anton only shrugged, and as he pulled away, his magic finished Alistair spotted a great number of cuts and old scars all along Anton's arm. He snatched it. "How long?"

"There's more important things!" Anton growled, pulling his arm away and turning away. "Like getting out of here. If we live, you can question me all you want then. Can you not feel them?"

Alistair hesitated. He could. He had been ignoring it, but now he acknowledged the feeling it was like he was drowning. There was a great weight upon him, thousands and thousands of darkspawn pressing upon him. "There's thousands of them."

Anton nodded. "We must get to the battle field. We must get to Duncan."

~xXx~

They never reached the main battle field. It was hard enough for them to get out the tower. By the time they reached the bridge into Ostagar, they could see the whole thing. They saw Loghain's troops retreating. They saw the darkspawn hoard snuff out the light that was Duncan and Cailan's troops. Alistair was numb. He had stood aghast as he watched another ogre decimate troops and close in on where he knew Duncan and the other wardens were. Anton again had to drag him away, and they fled. The bolted for the Korcari wilds – why Alistair wasn't sure. He felt sick to his stomach, within seconds his whole world was flipped upside down. His friend was a bloodmage, Duncan was most likely dead, or at the very least Alistair had just left him to die. Anton kept pushing him, when he faltered he grabbed him and literally dragged him along through the trees and the swamps..

For three hours they pressed into the wilds. Deeper and deeper. The place was dark enough, but with the fall of the night it was only darker. How Anton had any idea of where they were going he had no idea. There was a thick fog swirling around their feet, and it chilled the warden to the bone. Anton seemed unaffected, using his dragon bone staff to knock branches out the way as if they had personally insulted him. A faint blue glow from the top of it lit their way, but all it seemed to do was make the shadows longer. Eventually Alistair had had enough. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Enough Anton! We've travelled far enough. I'm exhausted. I can't feel my toes anymore, let alone any darkspawn. We rest here. I rest here. You can do what you like." And with that he flopped down against the nearest tree, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Anton hesitated, looking down at his fellow warden. A frown crossed his features and he glanced around for something to make a fire with. Anton was no wilderness survival expert, but he knew that unless there was heat Alistair would die in his sleep. He cast around for some sort of wood to burn, and short of the trees surrounding them he was at a loss. But something in the tree line did catch his eyes. They narrowed.

He watched as that young witch from before walked into view. Her yellow eyes glanced down at the sleeping warden, and in her arms she had several thick logs. "Not versed in the outdoors are you?" She said, a hint of poison in her voice. She knelt in front of Alistair, dropping the logs and setting up a fire. "Would you oblige?" She tilted her head expectantly at Anton, and he returned the gesture. Crossing the gap between them, he crouched at the edge of the fire before a gesture from his hand set the logs alight. The fire was instantly blazing, hot, strong and soothing. Alistair visibly relaxed in his sleep. "Thank you, Morrigan." Anton said, letting the light on the end of his staff die out. He then laid it on the ground beside Alistair's feet, and watched Morrigan grope in her pack. She pulled out a blanket and laid it over the sleeping warden.

"You are welcome, Anton." She replied, sitting cross legged and looking at him in a very intense manner.

Anton wasn't stupid, and he wasn't completely oblivious to human nature. "Your mother sent you, didn't she?"

"Very insightful of you. I trust the battle against the darkspawn didn't go well?"

"You already know the answer to that. Is the king dead?"

"Yes. As is Duncan, and the rest of the Grey Wardens."

Anton let out a sigh. Morrigan chanced a smile. "I guess that makes your friend the acting commander of the Ferelden warden's, doesn't it?"

The mage nodded, letting out another long drawn out sigh. "Yes. Yes it does."

"And he wasn't thrilled with you being a bloodmage, was he?"

"Your mother told you that, I assume?"

"No." Morrigan admitted. "The first time you ventured into my wilds, I saw what you were casting on that Emissary, and how you cast it. A pinprick on your thumb, very clever, very subtle. How long have you used your own blood?"

"Ever since I was a child." Anton replied gently, lifting one hand to rub the bridge of his nose. "I am uncertain of how or where I picked up the technique, but I have managed to conceal and perfect it this long. Currently I'm attempting to come up with a way to use the darkspawn blood."

Morrigan's eyes widened. "Is that not a touch ambitious?"

"It is ambitious men who make advances, Morrigan." Anton replied steadily, shifting from a crouch to sit cross legged. Letting out a long sigh he closed his eyes, hands resting on his knees. "So why did your mother send you? I don't imagine your task was to bring us firewood and blankets."

"No." Morrigan let out a long breath. "She has sent me to aid you. Like it or not P'Sioux, you are the only Grey Wardens in Ferelden. You must unite the country and stop the blight."

"Is that all?" The bloodmage raised an eyebrow at the witch.

"Well, I'm sure plenty of other things will come up along the way." She offered a smile. Anton's response was stoic silence, his eyes drifting to the now snoring Alistair. It would seem his companion could sleep deeply wherever he fancied – just as well, because it stopped him talking. Shifting his weight where he sat Anton pulled off one glove, letting the silence around the fire grow. Morrigan's yellow eyes narrowed at the bloodmage. Her teeth bit her lower lip, taking his in his features. A nose to big, eyebrows too thick. Mouth too thin, cheeks too sallow, like he had never eaten a decent meal in his life. "Are you hungry?" She offered reaching for her pack to fetch the jerky she had brought.

"No." Anton replied softly, both hands now freed of the gloves he flipped them over, staring intently at the back of his hands. Morrigan slowly chewed on a peace of jerky, her eyes focused on Anton she watched as he closed his eyes, fingers curling into small tight fists. A flick of his wrist and he produced a knife, the tip of which he pressed into his thumb pad. A single droplet of blood oozed from between pale flesh, moving slowly through the air until it floated in front of Anton's eyes. More droplets joined it, all separate and floating. They began to spin around each other, slowly at first, and in a very intrict pattern. As the moments dragged by, the dance began to speed up, each droplet of blood spinning and winding in and out of the others. As the speed increased they elongated, until a very fine circular web of blood floated in the air before Anton, and it began to expand. Morrigan could see his eyes moving underneath his eyelids, and wondered for a moment if he was asleep, and dreaming. She moved around the fire to investigate further when suddenly his eyes opened, and the blood rapidly dissipated into their air.

The witch drew in a thin breath, Anton's eyes having found hers. It was the first time she had looked into those dark, dark eyes and she felt as if her soul was laid out for him to see. For second his eyes looked unnatural, even more unnatural than her own. Their colour was rich, the pupils almost narrow slits as they flitted, seeing things Morrigan could only guess at.

"You learnt your magic from your mother." When he spoke his voice was rough, those dark eyes only seeming to slip back into focus, before finally settling upon her own. Morrigan suppressed a shudder. "Yes, your powers of deduction astound me."

"Then presumably your talents, like hers, can be taught, passed on from mage to mage?"

"Assuming the mage is suitably gifted enough, then yes."

"You would teach me?"

Morrigan frowned. There was no look of honest earnest upon his face, no eagerness to learn. There was nothing on his face either to suggest that he was mocking her, poking fun. After all,why would a Maleficar care what an apostate could do? Never mind one from the _Circle of Magi_.

"Tis an amusing jest you play," She spoke warily. "But I suggest in the future you leave the terrible jokes to your companion."

Anton sighed, his eyes drifting away as he rolled them. At last, some glimmer of personality. "Why would a mage of your standing care to learn the magic of an apostate?"

"I'm a Maleficar, Morrigan." The patience in his voice was beginning to shift. "The source of knowledge is not an issue for me. However, if you feel your talents are not quite up to scratch...I'll seek out your mother instead."

"Oh, very clever." The witch hissed, "Appealing to my sense of vanity, however did you work that one out?"

"All women are vain, it is merely a question of finding the root."

"For that I might not bother teaching you a thing."

"Very well, if that is your decision." His eyes narrowed. "Your mother's hut is west, correct?" Anton made to stand to his feet, eyes moving as he reached for his staff. The mage's face had been soft before, but it had deepened into an intense frown.

"Fine fine!" Morrigan held her hands up, shaking them. Unsure if she was pandering to her desire to prove him wrong, or if she was afraid of the rebuttal Flemeth would surely give her should Anton turn up at her hut. "I'll teach you how to shape shift, and some of the darker spells that the Chantry will not allow it's penned mages to learn."

Then as swiftly as that intense look appeared on Anton's face, it dissipated. His face softened, and he seemed to shake off something. This time his eyes looked at _her_ not through her, and he let out a slow breath. "Morrigan." Anton spoke softly, his voice rich and a just a little strained, as if he had been shouting for hours. "You best reach for your staff."

Morrigan found her fingers reaching for the twisted length of wood without her command. "Whatever for, dear Warden?" She growled warily. Anton ignored her, instead prodding Alistair with his own staff. The sleeping warden didn't stir, only grunted and nestled tighter down against the tree. For the first time since she had met him, Anton swore.

"Darkspawn." He snapped, spinning around and stamping on the fire. "And bloody Alistair is out cold."

"Darkspawn? You idiot they wouldn't come..." But an arrow lodged itself in her staff, and with a hiss of surprise Morrigan turned around to face the direction it came from. Anton already unleashed a dancing bolt of lighting, which danced past her and grounded itself somewhere in the shadows with a terrible, inhuman screech.

"What was that?" Morrigan asked, shifting around to back towards the tree where Alistair still snored.

"I don't know." Anton replied gently, lowering his voice. "I didn't encounter this sort of darkspawn back at Ostagar. They're not Hurlocks, or Genlocks. They're something else. Something faster."

* * *

_Sorry for the delay with getting this chapter up, I've been in China! Thanks for reading, please all R&R. =D _


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